Like a Crack in the Wall
by reconnoiterer
Summary: Some things in life may change. And some things, they stay the same. Leon/Claire
1. Chapter 1

Everything changes.

If Leon had come here expecting to find closure in some thread of familiarity he would be sadly disappointed. It reminded him of photographs of the Belgian town of Passchendaele after World War I – all the landmarks of the area had been completely obliterated; from arial photographs it looked like the surface of the moon. The difference was that it had taken months to destroy the quaint Belgian village; it had only taken a few seconds to wipe Raccoon City off the face of the Earth.

But Leon didn't come to this overcast little mountain clearing to find closure, because he knew he wouldn't find it here or anywhere. For him, it was not a place that you could walk to, drive to, or fly to. For him, closure would come with the knowledge that all of the people who orchestrated that nightmare were gone, wiped clean off the planet by methods much cleaner, much more satisfying than mass destruction. When the world 'bio-terrorism' was scrubbed from the lexicon, then he would let himself think about closure.

He came because he was tired of phone calls from planning committee members begging him to make an appearance. As 'the only surviving member of the R.P.D.' his 'presence would be very greatly appreciated by the surviving families…'

This great honour could have been Jill Valentine's if she hadn't resigned her badge shortly before the event. Personally, he didn't understand why anyone would appreciate the presence of the man who had personally pumped their undead relatives full of enough lead and blued steel to put them down for good. They must be the same type of people that found comfort in the grotesquely appropriate phoenix memorial that has been erected on the edge of the ashy crater, currently facing off against rows and rows of white plastic chairs. If he saw anything rising out of the ashes behind it, he would put a few rounds between its eyes and call it a day. Standard Operating Procedure.

He would have liked to have never come back; there was nothing here to lure him. The whole area was so saturated with the stench of death that no inferno, no empty decades could wipe it clear. The flowers and wreaths piled against the base of the monument only served to cover it with a sickly, cloying smell that made Leon want to spit. Even after ten years the forest had barely dared to take back the devastated area, kept at bay by the intimidating fence now maintained by the U.S. Government.

Approaching the maze of chairs, some already filled with figures dressed in their finest mourning garb, Claire could recognize Leon immediately. Nobody brooded quite like the tall, lean government agent she'd met exactly a decade ago. And there were few people, aside from her brother, who would accessorize the most expensive suit they owned with ratty steel-toes. She broke away from the group of former S.T.A.R.S. and slid into the chair next to him.

"Hey Rookie."

"Well, if it isn't little Red Riding Hood."

These were old endearments, just a little younger than their acquaintance.

Leon was always taken aback by how _good_ Claire looked, every time he saw her. 'Radiant' he thought, was the word. With her blunt, stylish bangs laying thick across her forehead, subtle make-up, and cute but appropriate black dress she looked like she'd just stepped out of the pages of a beauty magazine. _He_ looked like someone who lived almost entirely underground in a labyrinth of brushed stainless steel and soft-bellied government employees because, well, he did.

"I didn't think you'd come," she said, pulling her sweater a little closer around her. She had thought it would be warmer – it had been warmer the last time she was in town. Leon shrugged, his arms still crossed over his chest. She had been able to see the outline of his holster under his jacket when she'd come up from behind. Of all the survivors she knew, she was the only one who left the house unarmed; even Rebecca carried a little Derringer in her purse.

"And miss all the excitement? Not on your life."

"They guilted you, didn't they?"

"Maybe."

"They tried that on Chris too. Took them a good couple of weeks to figure out the only thing that works on him is flattery," she grinned and motioned with her head to the line of former S.T.A.R.S. a few rows behind. Chris was unmistakable as the anchor of the group, enormous and intimidating as ever. One huge arm was thrown over the back of Jill Valentine's chair in a passive, yet resounding, gesture of possession. Jill herself was turned in her seat, gesturing in conversation with who must be Rebecca, although the sophisticated brunette seated to Jill's right barely resembled the nervous young medic Leon remembered. Barry was seated on Chris' other side with his family, looking much greyer than the last time Leon had seen him, but content to have his family by his side. Chris caught Leon's look and nodded, a gesture that Leon returned.

"What'd they use on you?" Leon asked, turning back around. "I know for a fact that flattery does not work on the likes of Claire Redfield."

"They didn't even have to ask me; I wanted to come."

She ignored his incredulous expression.

"I wanted to see what it's _really_ like," she explained. "It's never the same in pictures or in your imagination. I'm tired of remembering it only the way it was that night."

"And? How does it stack up in the flesh?"

Claire paused, taking another long look around the clearing. They were far enough away from the blast zone to be surrounded by tall trees on three sides. Up ahead was a clear path to the monument and, behind it, the wasted landscape stretched out along the horizon, as grey and dismal as the sky overhead. All around people were clustered together in small groups, talking quietly, or sitting off alone, just taking it all in. For the majority of people, this was their first opportunity to return to the wasteland that had once housed thousands; for years it had been quarantined under lock and key, first by Umbrella and now by the Government.

"It's quieter than I remember. Things were so hectic that night – the fires, the alarms, the blood pounding in my ears…" she didn't mention the screams or the hungry groans that still haunted her dreams from time to time. "It's more peaceful now – you can hear the birds if you listen for them."

"It's not peaceful," Leon disagreed, shaking his head. "A graveyard is only peaceful if everything in it stays at rest. They're still in there, doing whatever it is they do, not thinking, not even looking up at the nightmare landscape that's around them. It's quiet, but it's not peaceful."

"Good God, you sound just like him."

"Chris?"

"Yes - and both of you are going to work yourselves into an early grave. Do you really think you'll find your peace there, Leon?" The question was pointed and frank but not harshly delivered.

"I'm not sure, but I have to do something. I don't know what else there is."

Before Claire could reply someone cleared their throat up at the podium and the last of the stragglers took their seats. The ceremony began much as any of the other hundreds of similar ceremonies Leon had been present at as part of his duties to the President. First one committee member got up to say a few words, then another got up to say a few more, then a tearful widow or bereaved mother was asked to say something and so on and so forth.

The major highlight of the event was the unveiling of a massive marble wall which had been inscribed with the names of all who had perished with the bombing that had taken place a decade ago. It was a massive landmark filled with a hundred thousand names and it served to block out a segment of the depressing landscape beyond. It was not something Leon would return to visit; it weighed too heavily on his conscious to think of the walking, ravenous, zombified corpses as people with names and families.

After the white sheets veiling the wall had been pulled down Leon was surprised to see Jill Valentine make her way up to the podium. Usually she stuck to the shadows, happy to work out of the spotlight and let her more aggressive partner take stage. But Chris hadn't been there that night ten years ago, and so Jill was left to tell her own story. It took her a moment to unfold the crumpled note she'd written for herself and adjust the microphone down to her height. When she began her voice was clear but tight, and Leon could detect a slight waver from time to time, although if it was from emotion or just nerves he couldn't be sure.

"Ten years ago, when I used to tell someone that I was a cop in Raccoon City, nine out of ten people had never heard of the place. Today, everybody knows the story of what happened here that September night, and the name of this small, sweet little town has become synonymous with what can happen when greed and corruption are taken to an extreme…"

As Claire grew older she found herself becoming more and more emotional, more empathetic, less capable of forcing everything below the surface. It was as if the consequence of spending so many years holding her emotions in was that now they just bubbled out whenever they felt like it. Listening to Jill's frequent pauses to clear the tension in her throat Claire could feel her eyes start to burn. Reaching out, she grasped Leon's hand where it was stuffed under his arm, twining her fingers tightly into his. Of all the people close to her, his experience was the nearest to her own. Leon had always been the one most able to understand what she had gone through and what it had done to her. It didn't matter that they sometimes went nearly a year without speaking; when they finally saw each other again the rapport returned instantly.

Leon glanced over in time to see a single tear snake its way down her cheek. Instinctively, he wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth of his embrace. It was just enough of a gesture to comfort her without making her feel worse. It felt nice to have a shoulder to cry on. For Leon it was nice to be able to help at least one person amidst the sobbing audience.

When the ceremony had finished Claire pulled her fingers out of their grip with his and drew slightly away to swipe at her eyes.

"No, no, no, you're doing it all wrong," Leon said, gently catching one of her wrists. If there was one thing he had learned in his service to the President's family it was: _"Jesus Leon! I already look like shit from crying – don't make it worse by smearing my mascara!"_. He pulled the black silk pocket square out of the breast pocket of his jacket, shaking out the elaborate folds. Catching her chin, he dabbed delicately at the moisture on her cheeks and under her eyes.

"Is this how they do it in the Presidential suite?" Claire asked with a short sniffle.

"It is indeed _exactly_ how we do things in the Presidential suite," he assured her. He held the pocket square against her nose like a mother to a young, sickly child. "Now blow."

Claire rolled her eyes, still a little red, and snatched the silk out of his hand, turning away to give her nose a couple of good, loud blows. When she was finished she folded it back into a neat little square and looked at him a little shamefaced.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You okay?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Claire felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Rebecca's concerned features.

"You okay?"

"Yes," Claire answered again, a little embarrassed.

"Alright alright, just checking. We're going to look around a bit – you two coming?" She smiled her greeting to Leon who quirked his lips a little in reply.

"Yeah sure, we'll catch up in a minute," Claire replied.

Leon watched Rebecca join up with the rest of the group who moved off along the memorial wall, no doubt looking for any names they recognized.

"Something up?"

"I miss you Leon," Claire admitted plainly. "It's been ten years and I feel like we've barely seen each other since those first few months."

"I miss you too. I'm sorry for being such a poor correspondent. You always made the effort for both of us and I always drop the ball."

"And I worry about you."

"Why?" Leon, as a grown man more capable than most of looking after himself, was a little startled.

"Because you're like a wraith, and every time we see each other you have faded away a little more," she can feel herself tearing up again. "You and Chris are the same – you've fought so hard to stay alive but you never stop to appreciate how beautiful the world around you is. You just hate and fight and kill and… what kind of life is that, Leon?"

Having given up his pocket square, Leon had to use the pads of his thumbs to wipe away her tears. He wanted to say something to reassure her, but she was right and he couldn't bring himself to lie to her face. His life was an endless repetition of empty tasks that he completed only because he felt that eventually they might, somehow, make a difference. At this point in his life that bland routine was all he knew; it was comfortable in a damned sort of way.

"It's a life, and sometimes that's enough," his hands were cool against her flushed face.

"I don't want you to fade away. What would I do without you?"

"I'm not going to fade away, I promise you." He pulled her into as tight a hug as he could in their awkward seated position. She smelled like tea with honey and fit like a missing piece. "You don't need me, but I'll always be here for you anyway. Just in case."

"Will you look for the small things Leon? Just something small to make you happy so that the next time I see you there's something more than government-funded blasé in those pretty blue eyes?"

"_You_ make me happy, Claire," he said, firm hands stroking her back. "Maybe I don't know how to show it properly, but I am always glad to see you."

Claire pulled back a little, her striking blue eyes fixing him with a look. "Leon Scott Kennedy – you know flattery will get you nowhere with me." Sometime since he'd last seen her she had mastered the art of looking down her pointed nose at him while actually having to look up.

"We'll see," he said with smirk, pulling her up from her seat. "Now c'mon, I want to see if they put my name up by mistake."

They walked hand in hand toward the rest of the group, Claire occasionally taking advantage of the difference in their gaits to not-quite daintily shoulder-check him.

Some things never change.


	2. Chapter 2

Leon had missed the smell of the mountains in the fall. The dusty perfume of falling, crunchy leaves underlined with notes of burning wood and cool, crisp air. Washington was a nice city, beautiful even, but Leon sometimes found the press and stench of so much humanity to be suffocating.

The sun had just barely dipped beyond the tops of the trees that were the horizon, creating a wash of pinky-orange above the pointed tips. It had been cloudy for most of the day, but the sun had finally broken through, only to be swallowed up again by the Earth's rotation. Leon propped his booted feet up on the porch railing across from the swinging bench he was sitting on. As happy as he was to catch up with old friends, and he was happy, he was severely unaccustomed to crowded rooms filled with people and had come out to get some air.

Inside the cabin behind him, he could hear the low rumble of Barry's deep chuckle, sharply accented by the higher-pitched laugh of one of his daughters. Seeing the older man with his family, observing the easy familiarity Barry had with his wife and the gentleness with which he treated his daughters had struck a melancholy chord in Leon's chest. Back when Barry had been Leon's age he had already been a family man, had a real home to come to every night. He probably drove his kids to swimming lessons, gave them piggy-back rides, and maybe even treated his wife to a night out alone every once in a while. Leon, unable to form a serious commitment with anyone for a variety of reasons came home to the same, empty apartment night after night – when he could be bothered to come home at all. Normally his routine didn't bother him, but all the focus of the day had been on that momentous night ten years ago that had set him on this path, and the life that he had once dreamed of having had weighed heavily on his mind since early morning.

The cabin door squeaked open on its aging hinges, admitting a burst of sound and light onto the swiftly darkening porch. Claire had layered up on her previous outfit, having thrown on a pair of high, thick wool socks and a hooded zip-up sweater borrowed from Kathy and Moira. Her hair was drawn back up into her usual pony-tail and her feet were stuffed into what must be her brother's oversize combat boots. The overall effect, with the delicate skirt of her dress draping exquisitely in between the borrowed garments was perfectly _Claire_: intrinsically lovely, but totally utilitarian. Eclectic.

"So this is where you're hiding," her booted feet clomped noisily on the wooden deck as she came over to the swinging bench and sat down beside him. "You shouldn't drink alone, Leon. It's bad for your reputation."

"I'm not drinking alone," he said, holding up the half-full, half-warm bottle of beer he had been holding on his lap. "You're here, right?" He took another swig then set the bottle down on the ground, bringing his feet off the banister.

Claire shook her head and rolled her eyes at him.

"Whatever, but just so you know, I am _not_ footing the bill for your rehab." She crossed her legs, the hem of her skirt riding up higher on her knees to expose more of her pale thigh, shrouded in sheer, black nylon. Not that Leon was paying attention to how good her long legs looked in her stockings, or how creamy the hint of cleavage her dress exposed had looked earlier. No, Leon was definitely _not_ noticing those types of things about huge, short-tempered Chris Redfield's baby sister.

"You look really nice today," he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the nostalgia, or the proximity that inspired the out-of-character comment; perhaps a combination of all three.

"Since when do you ever notice what I look like?"

"Since… late September 1998?" Leon was unsure of what to say- the reactions he normally received fell into two categories: 1) Appreciation, and 2) "Are you saying I looked like crap yesterday?"

"Bull. Shit." Claire accentuated each word, forming it into its own vessel of disbelief. "Come on Leon, you know false flattery won't get you anywhere with me. If you want something you just have to ask."

"And since when can you read minds? Maybe if I _were_ going to check you out I would keep it on the down-low so your brother doesn't rip out my intestines and feed them to me. What do you make of that, know-it-all?"

"Oh, do not _even_ pull the 'Scary Big Brother' card with me. I've read your prestigious report, Mister Kennedy, and we both know that you've taken down monsters that make Chris look like a teddy bear."

"I think you've got that backwards. I mean, I don't know any B.O.W.s that have a closet full of machetes in their house. Just saying."

"Just tell me the truth, Leon," she turned towards him, tucking one of her legs up under her body, leaving the heavy, over-sized boot on the deck. "I'm not pissed off, I just want to know."

"Why don't you believe me? You know I'm not a liar."

"What you are, is an incorrigible flirt – you flirt with Rebecca, you flirt with Jill, you flirted with that girl after the ceremony," she ticked off the names on her fingers. "But in ten years you've never said anything to me. And now you tell me that I look nice and that you've been checking me out since I was nineteen? I don't buy it. So come on, fess up."

Leon, realizing he was trapped without an emergency exit, groaned and sank down in his seat until his neck was resting up against the back of the bench.

"Maybe it's not Chris I'm afraid of – maybe it's you."

"Oh, please. That whole "boys are just intimidated by you" shtick didn't work for Kathy when I was fifteen; it's sure as hell not going to work for you now."

"Claire, you do not give yourself enough credit," he sat up a little straighter, turning in towards her. "You're smart, gorgeous, and _deadly_… what man wouldn't be terrified?"

"So you don't flirt with me… because I terrify you?" Her right eyebrow crooked up at the corner, clearly not impressed.

Leon sat up fully, turning towards her with one arm along the bench behind, the other left free for the gestures he was prone to only in moments of intimate or passionate discussion.

"No, I'm not saying I'm terrified it's just," he ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. "See, it's like this: I only ever flirt when I know it won't go anywhere – I can't help it, I like to see the reactions. Jill will always humour me like I'm a sick puppy, Rebecca looks shocked for the half a second it takes for her to turn beet red, and that girl at the memorial, well, she was just _damn_ fine."

"She was a little young for you, don't you think? Or has all that time with the President's young, shapely daughter started to melt your brain?" Delicate fingers reached out to pinch the exposed rib at his side. Known for his quick reflexes, Leon caught her hand with his before it could make contact. Gripping her treacherous digits in his, he kept her hand safely trapped on the bench between them.

"Alright fine – she was obviously there with some chump who dragged her along with his family and then ditched her all afternoon."

"Pity flirt? Ouch."

"Hey, she didn't seem to mind."

"Neither did you."

"Since when do you notice who I flirt with? Miss Redfield, is it possible that you are," he lowered his voice to a near whisper, pausing for dramatic effect, "just a tiny bit jealous?"

Claire jerked her hand out of his grip, sliding away to the other end of the bench, rocking it slightly with the motion.

"I am _not_ jealous of your various conquests!"

"You're sure?" He edged towards her on the wooden seat, his fingers reaching deviously for her ribcage.

"No way," she swatted at his hands. "I prefer my cheese in its edible form, thanks."

"You're right," the force of his body sagging in defeat against the bench set it rocking again on its rattling chains. "You deserve a much higher quality of pick-up. You deserve a much higher quality of love interest too; that's why I never flirt with you, and that's the truth. For what it's worth."

"Now who's not giving themselves enough credit?" Claire nudged her shoulder against his.

"Just being realistic," he shrugged against her. "There's a reason I can't hold a girlfriend Claire. I mean shit, there's a whole ton of reasons: I'm too distant, too protective, I'm never home and when I am all I want to do is sleep. You only have to make a couple of really great girls despise you before you just give up."

"Every relationship has its obstacles. Look at Kathy and Barry; you think he's never spent a night on the couch?"

"It's not the same and you know it. They had a life together before all of that happened – he didn't come into it with all of this fucking baggage."

"I would never write you off because of what you've - what _we_ have - been through, you shouldn't either."

"We've been through a lot together, haven't we?" His fingers, warm and strong, found hers again, reaching out to her in the growing darkness.

"Yeah," she could sense a change in him, in the dynamic between them. She had always assumed that Leon had maintained their friendship as it was because she represented a time in his life he wanted to distance himself from. Their compatibility was obvious, but he had always kept his behaviour in check and she had wrongfully assumed it meant disinterest.

"I just don't want to fuck things up. I don't want to lose _this_, you know?" He gave her hand a comfortable squeeze. "Even if I know it could be so much more. In the end, is it worth the risk? I don't know. There's not much in this world that scares me anymore, but the thought of pushing you away, of making you resent me, well, it's not something I like to think about."

There was a pregnant pause. His rationale was logical, to a point, but Claire knew well the difference between simply being alive and _living_, and the important roles that risk, and chance, and affection played in separating them.

"I think some things start small," she twined her fingers more securely into his. "You have to let them grow over time, you know? Sometimes, when you care about someone, you just have to let things unfold as they want to."

In the ten years since they had first met, both had grown, and what had started out as a partnership based on survival had also grown into something more substantial. Leon realized that all of the facets he had assumed he would fail at committing to were already present in the one person he had cared for too much to acknowledge. Friendship, respect, understanding, intimacy, attraction – these were all things already established between them, all he had to do was reach out and take hold before she slipped through his fingers for good.

"But do _you_ want to?" He asked.

"Do I want to what?"

"Let things…unfold."

She bit her lip as she thought for a moment. "You know, I think I might. I mean, I hear Washington is nice this time of year anyway."

"It's not as nice as this." Because of the way his face was angled she couldn't be sure, but she thought she might have caught the cheeky flash of a wink.

"Your technique is improving already."

"I can't take all the credit – I have a good teacher."

"Mmmm, I bet." Slowly, she eased herself away from him, untangling her fingers to pat his knee. "I'm going to head inside before Chris starts wondering where his boots wandered off to."

"Alright. I'll be there in a minute."

Her heavily booted feet clomped away, the open door emitting another shock of light into the night before it closed behind her. Leon sat back against the wooden boards for another moment, even as the cool night chill began to work its way through the floorboards and the soles of his boots. From the moment the tires of the plane had touched down he had known there would be no closure in the familiarity of this place, of these people. Instead he had found something else, something better, all wrapped up in the brilliant form of someone who had been there all along.

Some things remain static and some degrade, but some things change for the better.


	3. Chapter 3

"Shit," Claire swore quietly under her breath while she awkwardly maneuvered her arm into the depths of her purse. Somewhere, amidst all of the empty pens and crumpled up receipts, her cell phone was ringing loudly, announcing her predicament to everyone in the surrounding grocery aisles. Finally frustrated enough, she set down her basket and reached in with her right hand, finding the cool, smooth plastic almost immediately. She flipped open the phone without pausing to check the number. "Hello?"

"Hey Claire – it's Leon." Leon was kitted out with the best the Government had to offer; there was never any static, never a dropped call or random interference when he was on the line.

"Leon, perfect timing," hitching her purse back up on her shoulder Claire picked up her basket again. She sandwiched the phone between her shoulder and her cheek, pulling out one loaf of bread, and then another, both of which appeared to have been crushed in transit. "What kind of bread will best compliment my pepper salami – twelve grain or flax?"

"Uh…," Leon tucked his briefcase under his arm, fishing in his slacks pocket for his keys. It was late and the parking garage was almost entirely vacant, harsh fluorescent lighting casting a greenish glare over the echoing lot. "Twelve grain."

"You sure?"

"Trust me."

"Flax it is then," she threw the loaf on the top of her basket and headed off to another section of the store.

"Ouch. Why you gotta hit me where it hurts, babe?" Tossing his briefcase onto the passenger seat, Leon slid in behind the wheel and closed the door behind him.

"So your stomach is your weakest point now?"

"I'm a man – my stomach is my heart."

"I thought that was your penis," Claire caught a few heads quietly turning her way as she casually picked a jar of spaghetti sauce off the shelf and dropped it into her basket.

"No, my penis is my brain. Stomach – heart, penis – brain, got it?"

"Got it, penisbrain, now what did you want to talk to me about - other than your dirty parts?"

The low rasp of his chuckle carried perfectly over whatever priority air-waves he had access to.

"Aside from that, nothing really, although now that I think about it… what are you up to in mid-January?"

It was only a month or so since she had seen him last at the Raccoon City memorial and Claire, considering she often dealt with emergency situations that arose out of the blue, was the type to schedule on a week-to-week (if she were lucky), or more often day-to-day basis. She picked the least populated area of the isle – right in front of the expensive, imported cooking oils – and shoved her basket out of the way of foot traffic.

"Probably freezing my butt off and paying down my credit card bills – why?"

"Well there's going to be this gala or whatever for some foundation or society or some other bullshit and…" he fidgeted in his seat, pointlessly adjusting his rearview mirror to look around the empty parking lot behind. "All of these rich big-wigs are going to be there, so I figured if you wanted to come you could network for your organization…"

Claire sometimes liked to picture what Leon was like as an awkward teenager, because she imagined that it wasn't all that different from how he was now. Cooped up as he was, and had been, by the government he had never really had a chance to transition into the confidence that other attractive, successful men like himself wore like a uniform or a handmade suit.

"Is the President going to be there?"

"Shit, if I have to go, he had better damn well be there."

"Sweet – then I'm totally in."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she laughed, "I mean why not, right?"

"Alright well I'll phone you later with all the details."

"Sounds good. Take care, okay?"

"Always do. Later."

"Ciao," Claire snapped her phone shut and dropped it back into the abyss of her purse.

-----

Two months later Leon was sitting on his couch choking the laces of his new, stiff, black patent leather dress shoes - this was one occasion where combats would be sorely noticed and openly frowned upon. Two days earlier he had cut out from work early to pick Claire up at the airport, and just now he was waiting for her to finish getting dressed for the event.

Finished with the knots in his laces he made his way over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, absent-mindedly pulling out a Tupperware container of left-over curry. He had been shocked, and not unpleasantly so, to have come home yesterday to a home-cooked meal nearly ready on the stove. It had been a nice change from his usual routine of take-out, followed by delivery, followed by more take-out, and one he wasn't entirely opposed to making a more regular occurrence – as long as he could find someone else to cook. People often teased Claire about her lack of culinary abilities, but Leon could taste nothing lacking in the meal, even cold. It hadn't come out of a can or the microwave, which was more than he could say for most of his 'home-cooked' meals.

The click of high-heeled shoes on hardwood announced her exit from the guest bedroom down the hall and Leon hurriedly shoved the leftovers back into the fridge, tossing his fork into the sink. Coming back around into the living room he caught sight of her just as she stepped into the room from the other side.

"Wow," was his first - as well as his second through tenth - reaction, his brain stumbling, and failing, to produce something more suave. It was hard to believe that the woman standing in front of him was the same one that had stepped into his guest bedroom wearing jeans and an old sweater an hour or so earlier.

Her dress was a dark, satiny, charcoal gray with an even darker art-nouveau inspired appliqué over the front that highlighted her trim yet curvaceous figure from her neck down to her thighs. It was an unexpected but pleasing cut; modest at the neck with short sleeves, fitted to her body at the bodice and to her knees in the skirt before straightening down to pool on the floor like liquid metal. Leon held out is hand to her and when she slipped her fingers into his he twirled her into a spin, glimpsing the large cut-out across her shoulder-blades that exposed just enough of her milky skin to neutralize the seeming modesty of the front of the gown.

"You look… absolutely magnificent," he finally managed to stutter out.

"You clean up pretty nicely yourself," she said, stepping towards him and straightening out his bow-tie. Wide, notched silk lapels accentuated his broad shoulders, a neat black vest defining his narrow hips and waist. The narrow cut of his trousers made him look even taller than he was; the overall effect with his hair combed off his face was classically handsome, and devastatingly masculine. "Did you learn how to pick out killer tuxes in secret agent school?" Her teeth were perfect and white between dark ruby lips, her glittering eyes flashing out at him behind dark, smoky lashes.

"Of course," Leon said, smoothing back a tendril of dark auburn hair that had already escaped the knot she had worked her hair into – or maybe it was intentional. Either way, the soft, almost-curl drew his fingers like a magnet. "Haven't you ever seen a Bond movie? That's the first thing they teach you."

"Looks like you're top of the class, as always." She fished into the small clutch she carried in one hand, producing a folded square of the same fabric of her dress. "Here, as a replacement for the one I snotted up before."

Quickly folding the fabric up again, Leon slipped the square into his breast pocket, effectively coordinating them.

"Shall we?" he picked her coat up from over a chair and held it up for her to slip her arms into. Then, linking her arm under his, the perfect gentlemen that had taken over her friend's body like some kind of mind-controlling parasite whisked her out into the snowy night.

-----

Claire had seen her share of mansions before, but never in the elaborate state of luxury and décor that the estate hosting the gala had been trussed up in. It was like something out of a movie; the snow drifting gently down across the yard could easily been flakes of soap sifted down from above. Dark green pine trees twinkling with hundreds of tiny lights dotted the expansive front lawn.

Inside groups of well-dressed people – all alive and well for once – drifted around the room, expensive jewelry and fine fabrics dripping off every limb. Waiters in white jackets circulated the room with trays of drink and food in a never-ending supply. The ballroom was magnificent, marble columns lining either side, festively wrapped in ribbon, upheld a wide balcony that surrounded the entire room a whole storey up. It was from this second level that the strains of the musicians wafted down over the crowd. Highlighting everything in a warm, cheery light was a massive chandelier, lit entirely with candles, hanging suspended over the centre of the room.

Claire caught snatches of important, official sounding conversations as her partner twirled her around the exquisitely inlaid floor. She had thought that she would feel out of place among these elite, but after following Leon's cues for the first few moments she had found her confidence, a star in her own right. After a few more turns the music wound down and her gentleman released her with a final bow over her hand and a quiet word of thanks. Stepping back to the side of the room she glanced around for Leon but couldn't see his familiar frame among the other elegant patrons. Unsuccessful in her search, Claire gathered part of her skirt up in one hand and headed for the place Leon was most likely to be within a crowded room – outside of it.

Despite the snow on the ground outside it still seemed warm on the stone pathway that led out into the vast, sleeping garden. Or maybe she was just flushed. Leon, sitting alone on wrought iron bench, looked up as he recognized the tapping of her steps on the stone cobbles. High hedges provided some shelter from the winter wind and snow.

"Oh my God, Leon," Claire came over and sat beside him, the cool air refreshing her with a chill. "I just danced with the President of the United States of America, and he was so charming, and so much more handsome than on TV – why didn't you ever tell me how regal he is?"

Leon cracked a smile at her uncharacteristic excitement, "It's a state secret – if I told you I'd have to kill you." He offered her his barely-touched glass of champagne which she gratefully accepted.

"Are you going to have to kill me now?" She took a thirsty swallow of the bubbly, the finely cut crystal cool against her lips.

"Tell you what; you save the next dance for me and I'll take you off the hit list."

"You? Dance? Now this I _have _to see."

Leon took her hand lightly in his and led her back inside just as the band was starting up again after a brief intermission. His hands were still cool from the outside air where he touched her, but the effect was searing instead of chilling. She could feel his touch in her bones. The music started a slow waltz and although it took a moment they soon fell into the rhythm of the steps. Leon danced with the same powerful fluidity that he did everything else; he was surprisingly graceful on his feet but held her with a protective strength that left no doubt as to his profession.

"You dance better than I do." Although he was obviously the leader, Claire kept her posture firm and strong, never one to be lead along.

"Not really," he replied with a chuckle, "this is the only one I know."

Together their form was not perfect, the lines and postures far from exact, but their movements were smooth and the intimacy gained in those few moments moving together would linger for the rest of the evening.

-----

Hours later when they returned to Leon's apartment, the snow had really started to pick up outside, creating a warm, cozy atmosphere within as the icy flakes hurled themselves at and around the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"I need to get out of this dress – my bra has been poking me all night," Claire said, slipping out of her shoes and hurrying out towards the bedroom. "Be back in a sec!"

Leon couldn't blame her; his own hand was already unfastening the tie that held his collar chafingly stiff against his neck. Shrugging out of his coat and shoes he made his way to the living room and sat heavily into the couch, stretching his long legs out in front of him. It had been a long night, enjoyable, but long, and he was looking forward to getting out of his suit and into bed.

After a few minutes of sitting with his eyes closed Leon heard the unfamiliar pad of bare feet on his flooring.

"Hey, would you mind giving me a hand?"

He opened his eyes to see Claire standing in front of him, still dressed, but with her hair undone and loose down her back. Finally free after hours of unnatural confinement the auburn strands were mussed and out-of-sorts, giving her the appearance that someone had just finished giving her a proper tumble between the sheets.

"Yeah, sure," Leon stood and stepped over to her. "What do you need?"

Claire turned so her back was facing him, motioning to the silky fabric of her dress.

"There's a hook and eye at the top of the zipper and I just can't seem to get it." She gathered all of her hair over one shoulder to allow him the easiest access. "It's late – I'm tired, but I don't want to rip it."

"Sure, no problem." No problem at all, except that there were parts of him that could think of no valid reason _not_ to rip her dress right off of her body. Parts of him that could still feel her moving slowly, smoothly against him. His fingers lightly grazed the soft skin over her spine as he worked the small clasp open. One rough knuckle slid against the sensitive small of her back while he slid the fine zipper down to the top of her black panties. Feeling bold, he drew a fingertip lightly back up over the blistering nerve endings of her spine, just to see her shiver.

Slowly Claire turned back towards him and he froze like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar, his palm sliding flat against her back. In his line of work, Leon couldn't afford to readily show his emotions, but at such a close proximity Claire could easily see that he was nervous, wondering if he had crossed a forbidden line. To reassure him she leaned up on her tip-toes and pressed her lips against his in a sweet, languid kiss.

He kissed her back, loving the feel of her finally pressed tight against him, her arms twining around his neck. The taste of her, faintly mingled with champagne, sent fire searing through his veins like a match in a tank of gasoline. The urge to press her up against the wall, or over the arm of the couch, or to lift her up with his hands up under her skirt and take her to the bedroom was one he could barely resist. A soft mewl from her throat provided a nearly-fatal blow to his rational mind; which was exactly why he took the cue to slowly untangle himself from her soft, rosy lips.

To take her now, tonight, would be too perfect. The dress, the snow, the dancing, the champagne – it was too ideal. Leon never trusted anything that seemed perfect; flawlessness was almost always fake, hiding something more sinister. And he didn't want it to be that way for them; he didn't want to wake up in the morning wondering if it had been something legitimate, or just an illusion in the atmosphere.

"You should probably finish getting changed." He carefully avoided the word 'undressed', swallowing hard to make sure his voice came out right.

"Changed…right. Of course," Claire could tell by his initial reaction to her kiss that this wasn't something personal about her making a wrong move. She knew him well enough by now to know that Leon Scott Kennedy loved to make his own life as complicated as possible at all costs. Unperturbed, she headed back to her bedroom and peeled out of her dress with relief, hanging the offending garment up neatly but chucking the uncomfortable undergarments onto the floor next to her suitcase with gusto.

As she pulled her old, worn-in t-shirt over her head, she noticed the flash of brushed metal from the nightstand opposite the side of the bed she had slept on. Hidden behind an ornamental wooden bowl filled with river rocks was a simple pewter picture frame which surrounded a snapshot of three young boys and their parents at Christmas time.

"Hey Leon," she called out, half of her voice lost against the walls of the room, "what is this?"

The image was old and dated by the hairstyles, clothing, and furniture of the smiling group. Dressed up in their finest matching Christmas sweaters, the three youngsters were sandwiched in between their parents on a sofa – dad looked like he was fairly well into the egg nog and spiced rum, and mom had definitely spent the past several hours in the kitchen preparing a full turkey dinner. In the center of the picture and the sofa was a gap-toothed boy with a particular grin that was more than a little familiar.

"What's what?"

"This," she held the picture out to him, fingers casually brushing as the frame slipped into his hand.

"Oh man, I'm like eight years old here. My mom must have forgotten it the last time they came to visit."

"Or she left it on purpose," Claire rolled her eyes at the questioning look he gave her. "This place is _lifeless_, Leon."

His shoulders rose up in a shrug. "It's not like I'm ever home anyway."

"So you keep saying, but it's like you're still living on the run – there's nothing here you would ever have to come back for. Nothing personal, nothing _you_. It's a little disconcerting."

"I've seen your place Claire - everything you've ever needed is in that suitcase."

"I know, I know, but at least I try, right?" She took the photograph back out of his hand. "So these are your brothers?"

"Yeah."

Her weight sank into the thick duvet as she stepped over to the corner of the bed. Following suit, Leon sat down on the other corner, looking around at the impersonal room he had ordered out of a catalogue and then basically forgotten about.

"You never talked about them. Never."

"There's not much to say I guess," he shrugged again, then leaned back on his hands. "It's not the same between us – like it is between you and Chris I mean."

"So tell me about them – I feel like there's this whole part of you I don't know. Family's a big deal for me, so humour an old friend."

"Alright well," he reclined back on the bed, the bottom half of his calves still jutting out over the edge. "Liam is the one in the snowflake-themed sweater, I believe. He's an investment banker in New York with the whole wife-and-two-kids package. He uh… does my taxes for me? I don't know, this all sounds pretty boring to me."

"It's not, just keep going," Claire propped herself up on one elbow beside him, her hair long enough to reach all the way to the duvet like a russet curtain. Her long legs were bare under her shorts, kicking up into the air at the knees.

"And Lucas is the smartass of the family, but he gets away with it because he's the youngest. He's a civil engineer and, according to my mom, has some new girlfriend that he's absolutely, madly, in love with and I should make sure my tux doesn't get wrecked because I'm going to need it."

"Your poor mom – you kids look like you barely paused in beating the crap out of each other to take this picture."

"She's tough. I think you'd like her – she also enjoys putting me in my place whenever she feels I get out of line."

"It's a big job, but somebody has to do it."

"Yea that's what she said. Remind me to keep you two away from each other."

Claire smiled at the thought of Leon's petite mother taking the muscled government agent down a peg or two.

"What about your dad? Does he still have a giant eighties moustache?"

"What?" Leon asked in disbelief, examining the picture again and laughing. "No, that was a pretty short-lived adventure in facial hair for him. My mom made him shave it off pretty quickly if I remember correctly."

"You want to see a dad-stache…" Rolling off the bed, Claire rooted through her suitcase for a moment before pulling out a small, laminated rectangle and tossing it onto his chest. "My dad could have written the manual."

Picking up the thin leaf of paper and plastic, Leon realized that it wasn't actually laminated, but two photographs sandwiched back to back between two pieces of thin, clear plastic which held together by a frame of duct tape. The photograph facing him represented the Redfield family as he had never known it, that is, with more than two members. It appeared to be a snapshot of the group on vacation – the background was a vinyl-sided cabin set against a forest of pine trees. Smiling in the foreground were the two parents and their young daughter – perhaps about nine or ten years old – dressed in the worn, comfortable clothes that were a camping essential. Off to one side stood the requisite, unhappy teenage older brother with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"So that's what Chris would look like with facial hair." The family resemblance between father and son was unmistakable, the similarities between mother and daughter equally so.

"Christ, I know, right? But don't _ever_ tell him I showed you this – he absolutely hates this picture. I don't look that hot in it either, but it's the only one I have."

Standing in the very front of the photo was a miniature, round-faced version of the woman stretched out next to him. Her hair was worn in the same ponytail pulled out the back of a baseball cap, a dark smudge of dirt across one cheek, but her smile was the most notable feature, beaming brightly out of the shadow of her hat. Behind her stood a woman Leon had never met, but would recognize in a heartbeat.

"Your mom was beautiful – you look just like her."

"I never thought I did when I was younger, but I see it now."

"You must miss her a lot."

"Sometimes more than others. I was still pretty young, and I still had my dad and Chris to make sure I turned out alright. But yeah, it wasn't easy."

Leon flipped the picture over; on the reverse was another photograph, this one of the Redfields as he had always known them – Chris with his lopsided smile and his younger sister in a headlock; Claire red-faced from laughter. He passed the worn little packet back to her; it obviously had a lot of value and had been through a lot, the edges worn and creased.

"You're not even going to ask, are you? Leon, you're so sweet."

"Ask about what?"

"About how this," she held up the family portrait. "Became this," she flipped the picture around to show the image of just the two siblings.

"I guess I just always assumed it was something you didn't really want to talk about."

"The dead 'rents do make for pretty awkward dinner conversations."

"Do you want me to ask?"

"Do you even want to know?"

"Of course - I want to know _you_, and obviously this is a big part of it."

"Okay, well," Claire settled herself in next to him, pushing the duvet up to form a pillow under her cheek. Leon looked a little past her, not wanting to stare her down like an interrogation. "A little while after this picture was taken – a few months maybe – my mom got pregnant again. There was already a pretty big age gap between Chris and I, and back then they didn't really recommend that women her age have any more children, but she and my dad decided to chance it anyway… so I guess you can probably tell how this story ends." Her breath came out in a huge sigh and Leon quietly edged a little closer to her. "Everything seemed like it would be alright, right up until the third trimester, but then things started to go wrong and it just spiraled out of control. It happened so fast… it was like one day they were fine and the next they were both gone."

"Christ…" Turning his head a bit, Leon glanced over to make sure she was alright, lifting his arm to invite her in closer. Grateful, she moved in to his side, resting her head up on his shoulder.

"After that it was just the three of us for a while. My dad took it pretty hard, understandably I guess, but he still had us. Chris was the one who really stepped up to the plate for all of us. He used to be in all these clubs and sports and he just dropped out of all of it to take care of me after school because dad had to work. Even after he joined the Air Force, he always tried to make sure I was okay."

Leon turned his body a little more, tucking her more solidly against his chest. Half-lost in memory, she absently ran her fingers up and down in the grooves formed by the pleats at the front of his shirt.

"So that's how it was for a while, and then, when I was almost seventeen, my dad dropped me of at school one morning, went to work, had a heart attack and died."

For some reason Leon had always assumed that the senior Redfields had died together – a car accident or something of the like that would have wiped them out in one fell swoop. He had always thought of his parents as a single unit, could never imagine one without the other.

"So yeah, now you know why a nineteen year old would drive across the country to look for her brother after a few unanswered phone calls. Why she would cop out on you to try to track him down in Europe - he's all I have left now."

"And me," Leon interjected.

"And you," touched, she agreed with a small smile he could feel against his shoulder. "But if you're planning on getting lost in Antarctica you can just forget it. One visit was enough for me thanks."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Then it was quiet for a long time. So long, in fact, that Leon found himself dozing off into sleep – something he didn't realize until a car door slammed outside, jolting him awake. His body tried to sit up, but half of his torso was still held down to the bed by the no-longer totally asleep form of his bedmate.

"I should go," the words formed slowly in his parched mouth, one long arm reaching over to deposit the photographs on the night stand and turn off the lamp.

"You should stay," Claire disagreed sleepily, making herself comfortable once more against his side. "Your bed will be cold." She offered weakly as an excuse.

"Mmmm," his limbs felt too heavy to disagree with that kind of sleep-logic. Settling back down, he drifted back to sleep, warm and content in the arms of the only woman he had ever met who made his life simpler instead of more complicated.


	4. Chapter 4

The squeaking floorboards of the deck announced his arrival back at the cabin long before he ever reached the door. Despite their sorry state Chris refused to replace the creaking wood; he liked that no one got in or got out without an alarm. The door still groaned as Leon pushed it open – he'd try to remember to fix it before he left, but the list of projects needing completion was already quite long. The cabin the Redfield parents had left for their children was in need of more than a new coat of paint after so many years of disuse. Apparently an uncle had used it off and on for a while before he'd been transferred out of state and the commute became too inconvenient. Still, Leon had slept in less stable structures and survived and when Claire had phoned him up to ask if he wanted to come down for a few days of 'renovations and relaxations' he'd happily agreed.

It was a nice little cabin, endearing with its mismatched furniture and with not a bad view – just a few rows down to the waterfront. It had two bedrooms and a pull-out couch that didn't leave his back too aching in the morning.

"Christopher Redfield that better be your sorry ass dragging it's way in here," Jill didn't bother to turn around as the door opened, her arms buried to the elbows in a sink full of soap suds. A pair of black shorts showed off the expanse of her lightly-tanned legs, both a little scratched up from a day spent clearing back overgrowth in the yard. On top of the fridge an old radio belted out a staticy rendition of "Dancing in the Streets".

"'Fraid not," Leon kicked off his shoes and padded into the kitchen. "Just me."

"And what happened to you?" She glanced over her shoulder, placing another glass precariously on top of the pile of others on the dish rack. Having lived alone for so long Leon was amazed at the volume of dishes that could be produced by one simple meal. Between the four people bunking at the cabin along with Barry and his family staying just up the road in a rental, they'd maxed out nearly every dish left in the place at one sitting.

"They annexed me," he said sadly, reaching into the fridge to pull out a cold bottle of beer. Despite some of the cruelest jabs he'd ever been witness to, the Redfield siblings had had no problem teaming up to slaughter him out of their game of Risk. The sounds of the two still hard at it filtered through the open windows of the kitchen. "I feel so violated."

"I tried to warn you – they only really want to take each other out; the rest of us are just an added bonus."

"I should have listened. I would have saved myself a great deal of humiliation."

"Well, you wouldn't be the first person to pass on my good advice."

"Here," he grabbed a pot out of her hand before she could settle it onto the increasingly perilous pile. "I'll dry."

"Thanks Leon," Jill smiled appreciatively, her cheeks a little sunburned despite the fact she'd worn a hat for the majority of the day. "I've been wanting to talk to you anyway."

"Me? Hey, I washed last night," he settled a plate into a cupboard lined on the inside with obnoxious, retro mushroom-patterned paper.

"I know, and I appreciate it – God knows I can appreciate a man who does the dishes without having to be asked," she said as she passed him a serving bowl. "But that's not what I had in mind."

"Then what?"

"It's not what, it's who – but a smart guy like you already knew that, didn't you?"

"If you have a question about _someone_, why don't you just ask her?" He wasn't blind to the sidelong glances Jill slid in his direction every time he sat next to her partner's sister on the couch, or opened a door for her, or shared a bit of her lunch, or a thousand other things he'd never noticed he'd done until he'd _noticed_ someone else _noticing_ it.

"Because I'm asking _you_."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"No, you don't. Sorry."

"Alright, fine – you can ask, but I'm not promising an answer." Unfortunately for him, Leon had a feeling that if Jill Valentine wanted answers out of him, he was going to give them to her – government training or not.

Jill dried her hands on a tea towel looped through the handle of one of the lower cupboards. "You and Claire – how serious are you?"

Leon had to hand it to her – Lord knew he could appreciate a woman who knew how to cut the crap. But as he stumbled for an answer he had the feeling she was reading him like an open book.

"You don't even know, do you?" The look she gave him was one of pity more than anything else.

"Why is it even any of your business?" It was a lame, knee-jerk, attempt at a diversion and they both knew it. But as loathe as he was to admit it, he really _didn't_ know – he hadn't really thought that much about it, despite the amount of time he spent thinking about that particular _her_. What they had just kind of _was_ – it was comfortable and pleasant and fun and a hundred other things he liked. It was short and sweet e-mails that popped up in his inbox after particularly hellish days at work. It was getting together every once in a while and doing _normal_ stuff for a change. It was a kind of warmth in his guts whenever she was around. Whether or not it was _serious_, and if it were _serious_, the degree of its _seriousness_ was totally beyond him; he'd never felt that way about anyone before.

"It's not _any_ of my business, really. But let me tell you what _I _know about you and Claire," as she gestured with her speech Leon could see more of the similarities between her and Chris. It was obvious from the way that they spoke, the way they moved and expressed themselves that they spent a lot of time together. Watching one was exactly like watching the other. "I know that Claire meets a lot of nice men through work – rich, good-looking men, with a whole lot of power at their fingertips. And I know that she used to indulge some of them in a dinner or a nice night out on the town – not often, but every once in a while. But ever since that swank party in January she doesn't indulge any of them in anything. And I just want to know how serious _you_ are about it."

"Why? Do you think I'm not good enough for her?" Leon narrowed his eyes, her words hitting a nerve.

"Don't put words in my mouth; you _know_ that's not what I mean. All I'm trying to say is – don't waste her time, Leon. There isn't enough of it in this world, believe me."

His reply was cut off by a creak of the floorboards followed shortly by a raucous burst through the doorway.

"You should have stuck around, Kennedy – you could have learned a few tricks from the master." Chris gloated while his younger sister rolled her eyes, crossing the room to rummage in the fridge for a moment. Her feet were dirty and sandy and left a little trail of grit across the yellowed tile.

"He cheats," she explained, grabbing a cold can of Coke and closing the door, resting up against it. "He always has."

"I never cheat – you've just always been a sore loser." Chris leaned one hip against the counter, his arms comfortably crossed against his chest. Jill was also standing with her arms crossed, but her expression was much less genial. Surveying the scene, Chris looked over at his partner, her unenthused expression, the pile of dishes stacked up behind her, and then over at Leon, still holding the damp tea towel. "What is this man, payback? I kick your ass so you come in here and put me in the dog house?"

"Maybe you should stick around, Redfield – you could learn a few tricks from the master."

"Oh God," Jill put a hand over her eyes, "you should have annexed them both."

"Don't think I didn't try," Claire said after a sip of her drink. Spending the day outside had caused a whole crop of freckles to spring up across her nose and cheeks.

"As if I need advice from some rookie punk," Chris said, keeping up the jest. He looked over at his partner, glancing briefly up at the radio and then back down. Jill was already starting to shake her head in disapproval. "Besides Jill, I know you can't stay mad at me. I know you can't stay mad when your favourite song is playing on the radio…"

"Don't even start Chris. I'm serious."

Claire groaned into her mostly-empty pop can as she recognized the familiar strains of Aerosmith's 'I Don't Want to Miss a Thing' through the crackle of the signal. The older Redfield sibling took a swaggering step towards Jill, herding her back towards the counter.

"_I could stay awake, just to heeeeear you breeeeeathing…_" Leon thought that the older man might have actually had a decent signing voice if he hadn't been intentionally straining the notes far past their tolerable limit.

"Ugh, why do you _have_ to be so _obnoxious_?" Jill tried to cover his mouth with her hands, but he easily pulled her fingers away easily. One arm pulled her close while the other fought to pin her hands, dancing her around the small space despite her protests. They moved together as if choreographed, so in tune with each other after so many years that her feet followed his erratic steps apparently without thinking. And although it was a bit ridiculous, Leon wondered what it was like to have someone know you that well. It would be dangerous, sure, but it was a little intriguing too.

"_Cause every moment spent with you is a moment I treasurrrrrrrre._"

It had taken Leon some time to realize that Chris Redfield did indeed possess a sense of humour. The brief time they had known each other before Leon started his work with the government had hardly been appropriate for jokes, so it had not been until much later that this side of the man had emerged. Jill was a little more reserved, even in her private life, but that seemed only to serve as fodder for her partner. They were so similar, and yet they were not the same – they complemented each other in both their skill sets and their personalities. If only Leon could be as lucky to find someone to fill in his blank spaces.

"I'm out of here before this turns into full-blown karaoke," Claire tossed her can into the recycling bin, banking it off the wall. "You coming?"

"Yeah," Leon left the towel on the counter, slipping his shoes on at the door.

Outside it was a bit cooler than it had been standing next to the sink full of steaming water. Claire zipped up the bottom of the light sweater she had thrown on as the sun sank below the horizon.

"You missed out on a lot of Aerosmith after you left. Although I don't know – do they play a lot of Aerosmith at Secret Agent school?"

"Not really, no. But the guy who bunked above me used to play Master of Puppets as loud as he could on his headphones every night."

"Disposable Heroes – how appropriate."

"You're telling me – he was killed in a live-round training exercise a week before graduation."

They started walking away from the little cabin along the main road towards the campground located just a short distance away. All along either side were other little cabins, their windows warm with light, the smell of woodsmoke all through the air. It had been years since Leon had been out in the tamed wilderness like this – he had never realized how much he missed it.

"What was it like? I feel like I missed out on a lot – and not just your brother's ear-splitting sing-alongs."

Claire shrugged, one of her toes scuffing along the gravel road.

"We sold that old van the day after you left – it was too dangerous to keep once we knew that the Feds had our number. Then a day or so later Chris bought a different one off some college kid in a Wal-Mart parking lot. It was green and shaped like a dust buster and it only had FM radio and every homegrown station we could pick up played that stupid Armageddon song three times a day."

"Brutal."

She nodded. The path around them had wandered out past the last of the cabins, farther into the thicker clusters of pine trees.

"It was different after that – we weren't just running around playing Robin Hood anymore. The government was on to us, we'd already done a lot to hit Umbrella with what we had and," she stopped in the middle of the path, looking up to where the sky was turning a deep blue, the trees all around them tall, dark shadows. "Man, is it ever dark out here."

"And what?" Leon stopped beside her, one hand burrowing into his back pocket. With a jingle of metal on metal he produced his car keys, a tiny LED flashlight dangling from the key ring. He turned the light on with the push of a button, illuminating a small circle in front of them.

"You really are a boy scout, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah I know. Don't change the subject."

"And, well," they started moving forward again. "I think we were all tired of living like fugitives. You remember what it was like – and we weren't the ones who had done anything wrong. So when Barry went back to Canada I went with him, tried to go back to school and do the whole 'normal' thing. But I wasn't very good at that anymore either. I still wanted to do _something_, to help people. It was Chris who hooked me up with Terrasave – they were partnered with some agency he and Jill freelanced for back in the day."

"I don't know what I would have done." His career with the government had defined his life since the first day he'd started his training. It had to; the type and caliber of his work required an undivided focus that left him little time to ponder the various alternate paths his life might have taken. Although, in the few moments he did occasionally have to himself, he sometimes still did.

"You probably would have ended up like Chris – I'm sure the BSAA would have been more than pleased to make their Original Eleven the Original Twelve."

"True." Or maybe he would have ended up like Claire, working for one of the organizations that went in after the BSAA or one of its competitors was through with a situation.

Unlikely. Claire was possessed of a healer's touch the likes of which a fighter such as himself could never hope to have on their own. She was different than he was, and not in a bad way - when they worked together they were capable of accomplishing amazing things. Her skills complemented his; she never got in his way, never slowed him down; if there were in fact blank spaces in him, she-

"Wait wait wait-" Claire paused in the middle of the path, lowering her voice considerably. "What's that sound?"

"What sound?" Leon flicked the tiny beam of the flashlight around the surrounding area, revealing nothing.

"That…_rustling_. Just listen."

And there it was, just under the noise of the wind rustling through the summer leaves, a quiet rustling and a soft murmur.

"I don't know – does it matter?"

"We should go check it out," her light gray eyes glinted mischievously in the cold, bright light given off by the LED.

"Is this a horror movie?"

"Why, are you scared, Boyscout?" Obviously losing the game of Risk had done nothing to soothe her competitive streak. Leon was quickly learning that any prolonged time around her brother brought out an undeniable _goading_ urge in her. They were determined, those Redfields – he had to give them that. And horribly effective when they wanted to be.

"I'm not scared – I'm just… disinterested."

"You're just… _boring_," she grabbed the flashlight out of his hand and stepped off the trail into the dark woods. Leon sighed and followed her into the brush, cautious of any branches that might come whipping back at him as she passed by.

As they neared the source of the sound Claire switched the light off, slowing her pace until Leon was right behind her. Through a curtain of leaves and branches he could see a pool of warm light, the type given off by a lantern, illuminating a small clearing. Pressed up against the trunk of a tree across from them were two teenagers evidently engaged in some fairly serious necking. Recognition dawned on Leon too late as he spied the sleeve of a familiar pink sweater pushed up on the girls arm. He reached for Claire to pull her back but his fingers just missed her and she crashed into the clearing with the government agent right behind her.

"Pollyanna Burton, you are officially _busted_," Claire cocked her hips, her hands resting on the low waistband of her shorts. The teen looked back at her, horrified, mouth agape. Her counterpart backed away almost out of the circle of light thrown off by the lantern, guilt-ridden at being caught in the act. Despite the warm weather he dressed all in black, his shaggy mop of hair messily dyed to match, his jeans torn and riding so low on his hips they were almost off. "Sneaking around with boys? Your dad is absolutely going to flip his shit."

"He's not going to flip his shit if nobody tells him!" Pollyanna pleaded, stepping forward to grasp one of Claire's hands.

"I don't know…" Claire had spent enough years as the younger sibling to know how to push a few buttons. She looked back at Leon, as if for confirmation, and gave him a wink that only he could see.

"Claire, come _on_. Don't act like you never had a boyfriend at the lake – don't act like you've never been in _love_."

Leon had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatic outburst – _teenagers_.

"I'm not going to confirm or deny any cabin-boyfriends because this isn't about me, young lady. You'd better get home before your parents start to worry - this make-out is officially _over_."

"Come _on_," Pollyanna looked to Leon for some kind of backup, but he just had to shake his head. One kidnapping was all it had taken for Barry to over-develop his fatherly protective streak and, although Leon had never seen it, he suspected the man was truly terrifying on the warpath.

"She's right – it's later than you think it is." They had been wandering in the woods for quite some time already. Around them the campground was growing quiet as campers retired into their tents and trailers, their campfires having dwindled down to embers.

The younger girl sighed dramatically, stalking back to pick up the lantern. She turned back at the far edge of the clearing, her brooding companion in tow, tossing the pair a withering look.

"You guys are _such_ tight asses."

A curtain of brown hair was thrown back over her shoulder before the two were swallowed up by the trees.

"I can't believe sweet little Polly Burton just called me a tight ass!" Claire laughed, mock-hurt, flicking on the flashlight again.

"You did put a pretty big cramp in her style."

"Whatever – she is too young to be rounding up on second base in the middle of the dark forest with some boy with a do-it-yourself dye-job."

"She's seventeen," Leon reminded her. "You're starting to sound like your brother in your old age."

"Ugh, low blow," she flinched. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"I'm not taking sides, I'm just saying…how old were you when you snuck out with your cabin-boyfriends?"

"Who says I had cabin-boyfriends anyway?" A little touch of flirtatiousness began to creep back into her voice, knowing it would pique his curiosity even further. She headed back through the woods to the path they had been on, holding a branch so it didn't snap back at him.

"Well, did you?"

"Why do you want to know so badly? Are you _jealous_?"

"Why would I be jealous?"

"Oh I see – I bet you had your fill of make-outs at co-ed scout camp, is that it?"

"Me?" Leon thought back to his younger days, of awkward, scrawny legs and sun burns. "Uh, no. I was a pretty awkward kid."

"You're a pretty awkward adult too sometimes."

"Gee thanks. You should be more appreciative – what would you do without this poor soul to harass?"

"I guess I'd just have to find other parts of you to harass." She kept her tone light and sweet but let a little undercurrent of something a little more adult run along underneath.

"And what parts might those be?" They were back on the path, rounding a curve to where the gravel disappeared into the sand of a now deserted beach. He tried to reach out and grab her wrist, but she anticipated the move and twirled out of his grasp.

"I'm not sure – but I bet it would be fun finding out." She could remember well the way his hands, his lips had felt on her the night of the ball – the feeling had lingered on her brain for days afterward. Stopping at the edge of the sand she waited for him to come up next to her, feeling his radiant warmth at her shoulder. "You ever do any skinny dipping in your boy scout days?"

"No – I don't think there's a badge for that," Leon looked over and down at her, resisting the urge to brush aside the errant strands of her ponytail that lingered along her neck.

"Probably not," she looked up at him for a moment, seeming to size him up, then knocked her shoulder into his, forcing him to take a half a step back. "Race you to the water!"

He took off at a sprint after her, his longer legs eating up the lead she had on him. He caught up with her just as she reached the water, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her away from the shore just before her toe could dip into an oncoming wave. The reaction to his maneuver was an uncharacteristic, surprised squeal.

"That was a totally unsanctioned use of brawn, Mr. Kennedy," she grumped playfully at him, taking a step away from his grasp.

"Chris was right – you really are a sore loser."

"Loser? You're not in the water yet." The soft fleecy-cotton of her sweater hit him right in the mouth as he opened it to reply. Stunned, she was half-undressed by the time he recovered enough to start stripping out of his own clothes. He caught just a flash of bare, pale skin as she dove into the water, the splash of his own entry just a second or two behind.

The water was cool, but not chilly – a nice contrast to the still warm, still humid night air. Claire bobbed in the water a few feet away, her wet bangs a plastered mess on her forehead.

"That was a totally unsanctioned use of nakedness, Miss Redfield," he said as he tread water, shaking the dripping strands of his own hair out of his face.

"Is that a complaint I hear?"

"No ma'am."

"That's what I thought," she moved her hand, sending a playful curtain of water in his direction. Leon ducked under the water's surface to avoid the splash, propelling himself deeper with a couple of small kicks from his muscular legs. When he didn't immediately resurface, Claire swam a little closer over to where he'd been but couldn't even catch a glimpse of him in the inky blackness of the water. The clear light of a nearly full moon illuminated the blank expanse of the lake around her. "Uh… Leon?"

That was when he attacked, grabbing one of her ankles and pulling her down underwater. She thrashed against him as he locked his arms around her waist, propelling them back towards the surface. Breaking through into the air, Claire sputtered, shaking out her ponytail like a wet whip, her arms having wrapped themselves around his neck. With his hands on her skin, warm in the cool lake water, she felt the same electricity as she had back in January, when he'd set her spine on fire with a brush of his fingertips. There had been something holding him back then, but as she slid her legs up around his waist his arms moved to bring her closer, not push her away. One of her hands moved to the back of his head, pulling his lips down to hers, tasting lake water on them. And then, like before, the reaction in him was powerful, instantaneous, and all consuming. It was impossible not to get swept away in it.

He kissed her back, hard, letting himself indulge in the way he had been too cautious to before. Letting his hands rove over her flesh, up her back, skimming the sides of her breasts, the toned muscles of her lean thighs where they were wrapped around him. Letting her feel his growing hardness where it strained against her. She rolled her hips against him in approval, the hard points of her breasts brushing against his chest, a slickness between her thighs sliding along his length. Gripping her more solidly against him he moved back toward the shore, laying her down on the sand where the waves could still lap at their entwined legs. Stretched out beneath him, her beauty was ethereal, her ponytail lost somewhere along the line, dark tendrils of damp hair curling out along the sand behind her head. The night of the ball he had been afraid that what they might have shared would have been too perfect to be legitimate – a trick of candlelit dancing and expensive champagne. But with the cool water that lapped against his back, soothing the rake-marks of her nails, and the grit of sand and tiny stones under his knees, this was much more real. Real enough that he could wake up in the morning and never have to question it.

She guided him in and fit like a glove, a little whimper of pleasure escaping every now and then as he moved inside her, as he stroked just the right place at the top of their joining. It felt good, and more than just physically – he felt _close_ to her, hearing his ragged, increasingly rapid breathing echoed in her own, feeling her heartbeat thundering underneath him.

It felt _serious_.

Climax reached her first with a gasp and an arch of her back, her thighs clenching around his hips as her inner muscles milked out his own release. He dug his fingers deep into the sand where they were entwined with hers, anchoring into the moment to make it last. Afterward, spent, he laid his head on her naked chest, the fingers of her free hand trailing up and down his back, dancing over the scar tissue on his shoulder. He kept her other hand in his, moving his sandy thumb along the valley of her thumb and index finger.

"That was nice," she said, draping her arm over his shoulders.

"That _was_ nice," he agreed. But there was more to it than that. There was what Jill had asked earlier – the question he had no answer to, a self-conscious void of information. But although he didn't know – there was one person who might. "How serious is this?"

Claire sat up a little on her elbows, forcing him to push himself up on his arms. "How serious do you want it to be?"

That he didn't hesitate in his reply was relieving – he was operating on instinct, on what his heart said, instead of over-analyzing.

"Serious. More serious."

"Seriouser?"

He smiled, a rare treat. "Something like that I suppose."

Claire leaned up, pressing a light kiss to his lips. "Alright."

"Alright? That's all it takes?"

"Well, we should probably eventually put our clothes back on too."

They did, picking their way back to the cabin, guided by the tiny beam of the key-ring flashlight and hauling half their weight in sand along with them. She slipped her hand through his as they walked, an ordinarily tiny gesture that seemed to speak volumes, and stepped around the loudest of the creaking floorboards. It was late – no need to wake up the whole household.

Inside, the cabin was quiet except for the low rumble of the TV in the living room where Leon had been sleeping on the pull-out sofa. Jill looked back at them over the top of the couch, a masculine foot peeking out over the arm on the other side. She raised an eyebrow at their disheveled appearance – the clothes that still stuck awkwardly to their half-damp bodies, the sand that just refused to completely wash out of Claire's hair, the flush across their cheeks that hadn't come from a day out in the sun. But although she eyed them both, she said nothing, not wanting to disturb the sleeping form of her partner, passed out with his expansive form awkwardly half-folded into the too-short couch, his head resting comfortably in her lap. On the staticy television screen Leon could make out one of the more familiar scenes from A Nightmare on Elm Street.

"How can you watch that crap – you're going to give yourself nightmares," Claire whispered, coming up to lean over the back of the couch.

"You guys only get one channel out here," Jill lightly shrugged, trying not to shift her lower body, and then looked over at Leon apologetically. "Sorry about your bed – if you give me a couple of minutes…"

He held up a hand, looking over at Claire who gave him a small, crooked smile, then turned back to Jill.

"You know what? Don't worry about it for tonight."

Jill looked back and forth between them again, pursing her lips to contain a full-out grin, or maybe a question. She shrugged again in a kind of 'okay-whatever' gesture and they said their goodnights, Leon picking up his duffel bag to move it into Claire's bedroom. He set the bag down in front of her bed as she closed the door quietly behind them.

"Like, ohmygod," she said, trying to shake a bit more sand out of her hair, putting a twangy note of teenage valley girl into her voice. "We are like _so_ totally _busted_."


	5. Chapter 5

The tires crunched into the leaf-strewn driveway with all of Leon's usual, efficient punctuality, pulling in behind a Volvo that looked as though it had seen better days. Looking around, Claire couldn't help but feel a bit awed – tempered perhaps with a pang of envy as she took in the large, sloped corner lot with its well-kept Victorian house snuggled up amongst a collection of mature trees whose leaves have all turned the colours of autumn. Someone had set out a display of pumpkins and gourds, and a large harvest wreath of dried, braided wheat adorned the front door. It was warm, friendly, inviting… this would have been one kickass place to grow up. Out on the veranda, pacing in front of a scarecrow propped up on an old chair, was a tall, dark-haired man, one hand cupping a cellphone to his ear.

Leon put the car in park and switched off the ignition. "You ready?"

"Born ready, baby," Claire quipped back, flashing him a smile that only just failed to cover her nervousness. She was ready to take on a full-scale bio-terrorism attack any day of the week, but meeting her boyfriend's parents still sent a few butterflies fluttering through her stomach – she had a lot more recent experience with the former. Leaning over the console, Leon pressed a quick kiss on her lips in one of those sweet little gestures they were both still adjusting to indulging in.

The man on the veranda had snapped his phone shut shortly after the ignition cut out and made his way down the drive, his feet kicking up little plumes of orange and red as he approached. Leon stepped out of the truck and the other man's solemn features split into a smile that creased the corners of his eyes in a way that Claire recognized as a familial trait.

"Liam," Leon said affectionately, grasping the other man's outstretched hand as Claire lighted silently out of her side of the jeep. "I'm surprised you managed to get any time off at this time of year."

"I could say the same to you," Liam said, the intonations of his gruffer voice familiar. Then he turned his attention to where Claire stood near the fender of the vehicle. His features were only vaguely similar to his brother's, the jaw squarer and more prominent, the lips and nose narrower, framed by neatly kept dark hair instead of the silky bronze-gold locks she knew well. But the eyes, the same stormy, intense blue, made the genetic connection unmistakable. "And you must be Claire."

She stood up a little straighter and smiled warmly, her hand grasped in his, his fingers slightly cool from having been outside. "Good guess. Intuition must run in the family."

"Something like that," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners again. It was hard not to feel scrutinized under that grayish blue gaze, but his hand on hers was firm and sincere. There was a slam behind them as Leon closed the back door, shouldering one of their bags. She tried to protest as Liam hefted her own bag up to his shoulder, but he raised a hand to silence her. "Please, allow me – I'd be in for an earful if I let a lady carry in her own luggage."

The trio trekked back up to the house and in through the door to the warmth and noise within. Voices young and old could be heard throughout the house, and the smell of a roasting turkey washed over them as they stepped over the threshold. Through the commotion it appeared as though no one had really noticed their arrival – a fact that Claire, not anxious to be trotted out for scrutiny, was secretly thankful for. Liam offered to take their bags up to their room, leaving them alone for a few brief moments in the entrance-way to remove their shoes.

"Nice place," Claire said as Leon hung their coats in a large armoire, the names of the three Kennedy boys still visible, hand-painted above three hooks at the back. Out of tradition or habit, Leon's had been left empty for them.

"Thanks," Claire almost jumped out of her skin as an unfamiliar arm settled around her shoulders. "I find if you sprinkle just a hint of cinnamon over one of the stove burners just keeps the whole place smelling _so_ lovely."

Claire looked over at her assailant, who merely winked one of his blue-grey eyes playfully at her. He had the build Leon had had when they'd first met – tall and wiry, with the same broad jaw and dark hair as their eldest brother.

"Almost as lovely as you," he added, sugary sweet, for effect.

"Lucas…" Leon said, with equal parts mock and genuine disapproval.

"Lucas!" An older, female version said from behind them, smacking his free arm with a tea towel. "The grocery store is closing in twenty minutes – there will be plenty of time for your _antics_ when you get back, but those cranberries are on a tight schedule. Now hop to it."

"Yessir!" He spun away smartly, catching the keys she tossed him and snagging his coat off its hook in one smooth motion before stepping out the door.

"You'll have to excuse him dear – he gets a little over-stimulated on holidays. You think he didn't have a mother who ran herself ragged trying to teach him some good sense and manners." The older woman said with a sigh, stepping over to Leon. "Not like this one here – come give your mother a hug young man."

Although Leon was night and day from his brothers, it was suddenly obvious which side he got his good looks from. His mother was a tallish woman, with the same blondish-red hair still shining through a healthy amount of grey. She had the same smile that shone between full lips, although her eyes sparkled a clear green above a light dusting of freckles. She left a smattering of flour on his shirt which she dusted off with the tea towel before turning her attention back to the newcomer in her home.

"They all call me mom, but you can call me Maggie. Or mom. Or really anything said in that particularly nagging tone children use with their parents when they really want something."

As if to illustrate her point, a tumbling crash echoed out of one of the other rooms, followed by a high-pitched scream, followed by a prolonged call for "Grandmaaaaaa!".

"That's my cue," she said ruefully before bustling out of the room once more, tossing back over her shoulder a quick "make yourself at home Claire!"

And it was hard not to feel at home in a place so full of people and homemade food and comfortable furniture, and so by the time everyone had squeezed in around the heavily-laden table and started to tuck into their Thanksgiving fare Claire did feel as though she fit right in. Mostly. A whirlwind of more introductions had prefaced the meal, and Maggie had done her best to come up with a seating arrangement suitable for everyone. On her left was the irrepressible Lucas and his sunny girlfriend Annik – the same one Leon had been told to keep his tux in good condition for nearly a year ago. Directly across was Leon's youngest nephew Tomo – a sweet, chubby toddler who seemed to think that Claire was the most fascinating thing he had ever laid his huge brown eyes on. He stared at her with his cranberry-stained mouth slack and open as she pulled a silly face for his benefit and his mother tried valiantly to put more food on his mouth than on the tablecloth. On her right, Leon remained as stoic as ever – he and his father seemed to compete for the title of Most Reserved. He had seemed slightly uncomfortable the entire day, like a man performing in a role he wasn't sure he remembered the lines for. He didn't make many of his patented smart remarks, and although casual displays of affection was something that they were both still adjusting to indulging in, he seemed to hesitate over even the smallest touch. But this was his territory, for now, and so she was willing to let him call the shots. His lives pre- and post Raccoon City had never intersected before - and normally he preferred it that way. His current, jaded self was as out of place in his childhood home as his former, eager, childish self was in his new life. But Claire was different – if anyone could bridge the gap, he was hoping it was the vibrant redhead by his he could count on to stay by side.

"Claire, can you pass the gravy down here again, please?" Lucas said on her left, motioning to the gravy-boat in front of her. Fortunately, although his brother was in familial lock-down mode, the youngest Kennedy sibling was more than happy to chatter away at her side, divulging an ongoing account of the most entertaining and humiliating stories of their childhoods – complete with startlingly accurate impressions. As he took the boat and its saucer out of her hand he caught sight of a telltale sparkle on her finger. "Whoa bro, did I miss the memo here or something? When's the big day?"

There was a lull in the dinner conversation as all of the remaining sets of eyes turned in her direction, Tomo still gaping gleefully at her, a huge glob of mashed potatoes landing – appropriately - on his turkey-themed bib. Leon sent a glare over at his brother, who flinched as his girlfriend gave him a slap upside the head.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically, "he really doesn't know any better."

They had originally planned to wait until after dinner, when everyone was stuffed and content and a little more familiar, to break the big news. But the best laid plans had never really worked out in their favour.

There was a prolonged, awkward, deafening pause while everyone searched for something to say, and wondered if they should be the first person to say it. Tomo squealed at the adult's sudden confusion and Claire smiled gratefully at him, which seemed to please him even further. At the head of the table the stately Leonard Kennedy, sire of the piercing blue-grey eyes that denoted any member of his lineage, cleared his throat.

"Congratulations son," he said, reaching over to pat Leon firmly on the back. When he smiled his eyes crinkled up at the corners and it seemed to break through the inherent sternness of his features. "And of course to you too Claire."

At the other end of the table Liam was trying to discreetly pass his mother a crumpled up kleenex but she waved him away, dabbing at her watery eyes with a clean corner of her napkin.

"C'mon ma, don't act so shocked," he stuffed the tissue back into his pocket. "You've been eyeing that ring all day."

She cleared her throat, albeit more delicately than her counterpart, and ignored her eldest son, raising her glass.

"A toast then – to everything there is to be thankful for – like wonderful surprises, and every new day."

Underneath the table, covered by the tablecloth, Leon reached over and squeezed her hand, a crooked smile on his face as he looked over at her. All around glasses clinked together and the bright glint of her ring was lost amongst the sparkle of the crystal.

Later that night, as everyone found their rooms, Claire snuck out of the back door, shutting it behind her as quietly as possible and turning the knob slowly so it wouldn't latch too loudly. She tugged her jacket closely around her, taking a few steps out into yard to where a two-seater bench was nestled between burlap covered flowerbeds that had been bedded down for the winter. In the summer it would have been a nice place to sit and look out at the rest of the yard, a large maple tree providing some shade and privacy. Claire swiped a few of the colourful autumn leaves off the seat of the bench and sat down, pulling out her cellphone and hitting the speed dial for her brother's number. The line rang a few times before a familiar voice picked up.

"Hey Claire," it was Jill's voice who answered. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Jill. How's the football game?"

"It is what it is," the other woman sighed. Tradition dictated that the household spend at least part of the holiday watching the nearly non-stop football coverage. In turn, Claire knew, Chris was forced to indulge in a few Christmas traditions later on in the year. And although she suspected their discomfort became less noticeable with each annual passing, each party was determined to maintain their disgruntled façade for appearances. "How goes it out east?"

"It's good. They've got a gorgeous place here and everyone's so sweet."

"Did you finally get your turkey dinner?"

Claire laughed – it had been years since either she or Jill – or her brother for that matter - could be convinced to undertake the assignment of preparing a full-out Thanksgiving dinner with all of the trimmings. They usually just ordered in – thankful not to have to spend a day off in the kitchen. She could hear the masculine rumble of her brother making some remark in the background. "Yeah, I finally did. With homemade pumpkin pie and everything."

"_Homemade_? So what you're saying is – you're never coming home."

"I might consider it, but it's going to take a lot of convincing. And bribing."

"You better talk to your brother then – bribes are his department."

"Thanks Jill. And hang in there – it must be getting close to the fourth quarter at least."

"Middle of the third, but I'll try. You have fun and a safe trip back. Say hi to Leon for me."

"Will do." There was a rustle and a murmur of conversation as the phone was passed from one side of the couch to the other.

"Hey, kid," her brother's voice came over the line. "What's this I hear about homemade pie?"

"From scratch. Even the crust."

Chris made a sound like he had been seriously injured – with envy. "Leon doesn't have an available sister does he?"

"'Fraid not. Only brothers."

"Damn. Well, I'll have to think about that one – maybe I can knock off his dad. He's got to by past his prime by now."

"I wouldn't try it – I hear his son has friends in high places."

"Good point. How'd they take the big news?"

"Really well. It went really well. His mom offered to help out with all the planning and everything, which is kind of a relief." Once the initial shock had died down, the focus of the women of the family had turned to serious wedding planning. Having only had sons, Leon's mother had simply beamed at Claire's offer to enlist her in the process – personally she wasn't really the floral arranging, venue-picking, colour-palette choosing, centerpiece-designing type. Still, there was something in her tone that set off Chris' concerns. Claire brought her feet up on the edge of the bench, wrapping her free arm around her legs.

"That's good then," he dropped his tone a little. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," she shrugged even though there was no one else around to see it. "I just… I suddenly feel really overwhelmed right now with everything and I… I don't know…" She trailed off, uncharacteristically defeated.

Chris didn't say anything, giving her the time to finish her thought. In the background there was an excited cheer as some crucial play was executed.

"It's just that… all of a sudden it's a little bit terrifying. I'm so used to being on my own – to just hanging out with you guys and all that."

"I know kid – it's a big change. But I think you're up for it."

"And I feel horrible questioning everything like this… but I… I don't know" Her words disappeared on her again.

"Do you want to talk to Jill about this? This kind of thing might be more her department."

She could imagine all too well the concerned look they would exchange on her behalf. "No. You're my big brother and I want your honest advice."

"Alright, just give me a sec here." In the background she could hear a creak of couch cushions and the soft tones of Jill's voice in the background. Then the sounds of her brother moving through the house, grabbing a jacket, and opening the door to sit out on the porch. Now, thousands of miles apart, they were both sitting out in the cold. "Okay, what's going on? You were on cloud nine when I saw you at the beginning of the week."

"I know – I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm not usually afraid of commitment like this. But what if this is all just a big mistake?"

"A _mistake_?"

"Yeah. What if everything just falls apart after everyone has put so much into it for us? What we have now is good – what if asking for more is asking for too much? What if we're just riding high on excitement and ignoring the facts?"

"Claire," she could hear a rustle, like he was rubbing a hand over his face. "I thought this was what you wanted. What you both wanted."

"I thought so too," emotion rushed out through her words, fear tugging at the image of the bright future she'd dared to allow herself to envision, clouding it. "But what if I just wanted it because it's something you're _supposed_ to have?"

"Is that really what you think?"

"I don't know. I didn't feel this way before. What if we get married and once the honeymoon is over I realize that it isn't right for me?"

"Claire…"

"I don't want to hurt anyone…"

"Claire."

"I don't want all of these really nice people to hate me for hurting someone who has already had to deal with so much." It had been years since she had been anchored to anyone or anything other than her brother. For her entire adult life she had come and gone on her own whims and desires, fighting the good fight and never having to worry about leaving someone behind if she never came home again. She had given her whole life, the one she had been spared by a mixture of fate, luck, and sheer, fierce will, to helping others who had suffered as she had and never asked for anything in return. Because what if asking for _anything_ was asking too much? If her life was a house of cards, adding another ace could be a killing blow.

"_Claire_." Chris said, sharply, to get her attention.

"What?"

"You deserve to be happy." As her older brother he had watched survivor's guilt eat away at her from the inside out, driving her in ways he wasn't even sure she knew about.

"I know that," she responded quickly, off the cuff. But her voice was small, and strangely tentative.

"Sure you do." Chris took a deep breath and she could hear the rasp of him exhaling against the receiver's microphone. "Well let me ask you this then – do you love him?"

"Of course," she answered quickly, immediately.

Chris sighed, "it's a serious question, do you think you could at least spare it a moment of your precious time to think about?"

"Fine," Claire answered with an eye-roll and closed her eyes. She thought back to the Sunday morning when Leon had first proposed to her, laying warm and content nestled in between her worn flannel sheets. She'd been reading an old, secondhand paperback novel, propped up against her pillows waiting for him to wake up – when they spent so little time together it seemed like such a waste to get up and leave him in bed alone. So involved in the – admittedly fairly weak – plot she hadn't noticed that he'd turned over to watch her until she reached the overly dramatic conclusion of the chapter and looked over.

"You're pretty cute when you read, you know that? Your nose wrinkles up at all the really romanc-y parts."

Hitting him on the head with the spine of her book, she hoped he hadn't been reading too long over her shoulder – there had been some pretty sickly romanc-y parts. "Compliments this early in the morning? What do you want now? It better not be breakfast in bed."

"Just to be with you," he stroked the back of his fingers along her bare shoulder above the sheets. His smile had been soft, but his eyes had been dark.

"You are with me," she had intentionally played dumb, curious to see where he would take it.

"No I mean... always. I need you Claire – I need _this_. This is… it's good for me." He had reached one long, sculpted arm over to the nightstand where, expertly hidden under an assortment of bedside junk, was an exquisite solitaire engagement ring. "I want the world to know that you are the woman who has always stood by me. I want to know that I can come home and have this," his arm swept open in a motion that encompassed their entwined bodies underneath the coverlet. "And not just _nothing_. You asked me once what kind of life it was to just hate and fight and kill without reprieve – well it's a shit one and I'm tired of it. You asked me to look for something beautiful in the world and I found it." He placed the ring in her palm, closing her fingers around it, her paperback discarded by her side. Sitting up a little she opened her fingers to look at the glimmer of silver and diamond in her palm, her heart pounding in her chest, her throat closed.

"If you don't want to – I understand. I do. It's okay." His words had sounded normal, casual even, but she knew that years of government training had left him with the ability to maintain his composure regardless of any circumstances.

She had known him since she was nineteen and never once in those years had she ever know him to _need_ anything. To ask for anything for himself. Like herself, he just fought, and sacrificed, and never complained because things could be so, so much worse if they wanted to. But she _knew_ him, knew the kind of man that he was, and knew that he deserved so much more from life – even if it was a feeling she wasn't quite sure she could extend to herself.

And now he was asking her to be a part of that hopeful 'something more'. To take the Sunday mornings in bed, and the private glances across the room, and the feel of him next to her – _inside_ of her with his breath ragged in her ear and their hearts beating against each other – and make it as permanent as the fight that had brought them together in the first place.

Of course she wanted to.

"Of course I love him," she replied again after a minute, cold in the November evening, light years away from that warm Sunday morning. "And I love what we have together."

"And I know that Rookie is nuts about you so I won't even bother asking. If this is what you want kid, you don't have to be afraid of reaching out and taking it. It won't always be a walk in the park, but I've never known you to back down from a challenge."

"Thanks Chris," she said with a smile, feeling bolstered again.

"And Claire?"

"What?"

"If it doesn't work out – it's not the end of the world."

"I know – I've seen what that looks like, remember?"

"Yeah," Chris said with a tired chuckle. "Me too – remember?"

"As if you'd ever let me forget. I've gotta run though – these roaming charges are going to kill me."

"You can always pawn that blinged-out engagement ring – that might cover it."

"Goodnight Chris."

"Goodnight Claire."

She flipped her phone closed, standing up straight and tall from the bench and heading back inside. As she closed the door quietly behind her and bent down to unlace her boots she caught sight of movement from over in the corner of the kitchen – whoever was sneaking down for a midnight snack hadn't noticed her crouched by the door. The light from the refrigerator illuminated a stark section of the kitchen – and Maggie Kennedy's robed form poking around in its depths. Claire cleared her throat a little to alert the other woman of her presence, lest she be mistaken for an intruder in the darkness. The older woman turned as Claire stood up, caught red-handed with what was left of the pumpkin pie.

"I won't tell if you won't," she presented the dish as a peace offering Claire was in no position to refuse.

"Sure – no one's going to want day old pie anyway, right?" she wrinkled her nose in mock disgust.

"Exactly!" Maggie closed the door with her hip, taking her prize over to the counter and switching on the range hood light. She served them each a generous slice, topped it with what remained of the homemade whipped cream, and set them down at the kitchen table. "Everything alright at home?" she asked after the first few bites, motioning to Claire's outerwear.

"Everything's good, thanks."

"You should have just used the landline – it's freezing outside."

Claire shook her head, "it's long distance – I didn't want to run up your bill."

"Nonsense - it's _never_ long distance for family. Next time you should just bring them along and we wouldn't have to worry about the phone bill either way." Maggie had traded in her contacts for a pair of glasses, her hair a little wild after having been bedded down.

"Thanks – I think they would really like that actually."

"Leon told me that your parents both passed when you were still quite young," she spoke a little tentatively around the delicate subject. "But I want you to know that you and yours are always welcome here."

"Thank you," Claire said genuinely, scraping up the last few crumbs of crust. "I know my parents would be grateful for your generosity towards us. They missed out on a lot of worry and heartache."

Maggie nodded, solemn, stacking their plates and forks. When she spoke again her voice was quieter with reminiscing.

"I couldn't sleep for weeks afterwards. I would just lay awake at night and think about how he had gone to that horrible town, where no one even knew his name, where there wouldn't be any familiar faces to help him if he were hurt, to make it easier for him. How he had died alone in that lonely place. And I used to just cry until I fell asleep from exhaustion."

She pauses for a moment to take a deep breath.

"And then, of course, he came back, and he told me about how he hadn't been alone – he told me that you had been there from the very beginning. And I was so happy, so _overjoyed_, to see him that, well, of course I cried again" she says with a little self-depreciating laugh. "But after the initial shock I saw how different he had become – so reserved, so distant, so… locked up inside of himself, behind all of that training. And I've worried about him ever since – worried that he might never find that simple happiness in life that is all a mother could wish for her children. I could read every article about what happened in Raccoon City, about what it did to the people who lived there… I could read about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and military training and what that does to a person… I spent hours in the library trying to learn how to reach out to him and I came up with nothing every time. I thought I might never really get my son back." She reached across and took Claire's hand, her fingers warm and strong despite the faint quaver in her voice. "But I see him when he's with you – just little glimpses, but he's there. Thank you for bringing him home again."

Claire nodded and gave a little squeeze with her fingers, a watery smile gracing her lips. There was nothing to be afraid of here. Their best laid plans might not have ever worked out in their favour, but the long road had finally led them home.


End file.
